Resident Evil: Relapse
by Johnnie Zombie
Summary: Billy Coen has survived the horrifying experience at the Umbrella Training Facility and now, two years later, an old friend seeks his help in stopping another nightmare.  Rebecca C., Billy C., Chris R., Barry B., & OC, facing new and familiar enemies.
1. Chapter 1

The man whom was once Lieutenant Billy Coen rocked gently from side to side on a threadbare hammock. The coconut trees to which the hammock was affixed provided shadowy relief from the harsh Mexican sun. A dry wind blew open the unbuttoned flaps of his Hawaiian shirt, drying up the thin layer of sweat that had collected on his muscled chest.

_Today's just one of those days you're glad to be alive._

The former soldier thought as he sipped sangrita from a tall, cold glass. Such leisure was a far cry from the past seven years of his life. At eighteen, he had enlisted in the Marines. He worked his ass off, ascending the ranks because of his tenacity and obedience. He suffered through the long list of insults the drill sergeants had for his mother, agreed with them wholeheartedly.

When he made the Special Forces, he had never felt more accomplished, more capable of taking head-on whatever life had to throw at him.

Then, the slaughter in Africa. His trial and condemnation. In the blink of a twitching eye, he went from being an exalted soldier to a branded mass murderer on his way to his own execution. It didn't matter that he was innocent, that his only crime was to disobey a direct order-the survivors of the ill-fated Africa mission needed a scapegoat for their guilt.

But then, in Raccoon Forest, he received a blessing more thoroughly mixed than the drink in his hand.

En route the the Ragithon military base, a mysterious man had caused the MP transport jeep to crash, knocking out the guards and freeing their stunned but elated prisoner. Soon after, he had been drawn into a conspiracy of sadistic scientists, Frankenstenian creatures, and the pharmaceutical company that funded it all. He would have died that night-if not in the training facility, then in the Raccoon City bombing a month later-had it not been for a girl in army green…

_Rebecca Chambers, I drink to you..._

On the sun baked road not ten feet away was a ragged old Volkswagen, turning into the garage in which the ex-lieutenant worked. He sighed and pressed his drink to his temple, knowing what was to come.

"Hey, Van Damme, you got customer!"

He gritted his teeth at the heavily accented English. The owner of the garage was an insufferable dickhead, but he was letting him work under the table. For a man who was officially dead and on the run, he took the annoyance with a spoonful of salt.

Finishing his drink in an easy gulp, the man who was once Lieutenant Billy Coen jogged over to the customer in the unfortunate car-and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who was in the driver's seat.

"Hey, old-timer," grinned Rebecca Chambers.

He stood there for a long moment, just staring at the girl who had given him his freedom. Then,

"What are you doing here?"

_Oh, of all the things you could say…_

"Flat tire," Rebecca said simply, leaning out of her window to point at the rear left wheel. He wanted to say something else, but decided that he should busy himself with the tire until he could think of something less anticlimactic to say.

While he fed the pump into the air intake, he stared at the young woman through the rear view mirror. She was smiling, no doubt enjoying how utterly off-guard she had caught him. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about her visit. He had made his peace with the idea that he would never again get to see the only person who believed in his innocence, had even risked her life and career to ensure that he wouldn't have to sit on the electric chair.

Despite the underlying melancholy that he would never get to know her outside of an impossible, life threatening context, he had forced himself to be content with the emotional one-night stand.

_And yet here she is. But why?_

"You fill that tire anymore and the car will tip over," Rebecca's humored voice cut in through his reveries. He cut off the air stream and capped the nozzle. He walked over to the driver's side and leaned against the door. He looked away from her as he spoke.

"You're not here because of a flat, are you?"

The slightly irritating grin slipped from her face and a knot of apprehension formed in his gut.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?"

Seeing her had made him realize how badly he had wanted to talk to her again, if for nothing else than to check up on her. But he knew she wasn't here for a social call. You don't track a wanted convict all over Mexico just to shoot the shit. This wasn't about him. This was about Umbrella.

* * *

"I like your hair like that." Rebecca said, pointing to the spiked mess that replaced his once neck-length black hair. Rebecca's own hair was longer now, the mousy brown locks held back by a black elastic, her bangs swooping across her eyes. She looked much older now, her eyes ringed with darkness, a frown permanently etched into the corners of her mouth. Rebecca was still beautiful, but she was a woman haunted. They had that much in common, at least.

"Thanks," he pushed a beer across the table.

"No thanks, still not old enough." Rebecca blushed slightly.

"Please, middle-schoolers are tossing 'em back for lunch,"

Rebecca smiled a small smile. She slid the frosted bottle back and forth between her open hands, bit her bottom lip. She pressed a napkin against the bottle, then transferred the damp coolness to her neck. The ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead did nothing to stave off the afternoon heat, even inside the garage's lobby. "So why don't you tell me why you're really here, Officer Chambers?"

She looked up at him, their eyes locked for the first time since that night in the Arklay Mountains.

"Earlier this year, Leon Kennedy and Barry Burton-both anti-Umbrella operatives-found a little girl on a cruise liner that had been overrun by bio-organics. She survived because of an implant, one that allowed her to sense other virus-carriers. Umbrella sent in a retriever Tyrant to get her; they couldn't afford the loss of progress. Leon and Barry saved her, _Lucia_, and had the implant removed. She was an orphan, so they placed her with Sherry Birkin and her aunt.

"Sherry had been infected with the G Virus by her father, an Umbrella scientist, but she had been cured. Her DNA changed though. I ran a dozen chemical workups and they all gave me different results. Before I could figure it all out, somebody other than Umbrella took them."

"Look, I feel for the kids, I really do, but-"

"They're going to experiment on them!" Rebecca said with surprising vehemence. "They're going to take them apart to see how they work, and then they're going to turn them into monsters. If they succeed in slowing the amplification rate, they could infect a country's water supply and have thousands of ticking viral timebombs. It would be like Raccoon, but this time, _a lot worse_."

"But why do you need me? Don't you have those other anti-Umbrella guys?"

"We've already sent in Chris Redfield to do some reconnaissance, but he's requesting back up. He needs a four man team and some of us can't always rise to arms. But people like us-people off the grid-we could really do this, Billy."

Rebecca's doe eyes softened. Her small hand came across the table, reaching for his. "I can't do this without you, Billy,"

He pulled away before her fingers could twine with his. God, there was just so much to consider. The experience in the Arklay training facility had very nearly destroyed his mind. He wasn't about to jump headlong into another similar situation. But as Rebecca implied, the fate of the free world was up in the air and they needed all the hands they could get to catch it on its way down. And if he had been terrified, he didn't even want to consider the psychological damage inflicted upon the two young girls.

…And then there was anger. A stupid, egotistical anger that Rebecca came looking for muscle and not a-

_A what? A date? You're going soft, ole Billy boy._

Billy. He hadn't referred to himself as that in two years, mentally training himself to adopt his new identity. But now that she was here, he was beginning to feel like that hopeful eighteen-years-old who had joined the Marines to help people. And wasn't that what Rebecca was offering him, an opportunity to save the world?

"On one condition,"

Rebecca looked at him curiously, then suspiciously. "You have to kiss me first." Billy smiled.

Rebecca opened her mouth in a show of indignation, then her cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. It was Billy's turn to enjoy her reaction.

"You wouldn't save the world if I refused to kiss you?" Rebecca asked incredulously.

Billy leaned over the table, his grin spreading, dark eyes alight.

"Darlin', I'm looking for a _real good_ kiss."

"You're insufferable!" Rebecca looked away and fiddled with something on her belt loop. She fished out a bottle cap opener and popped open the beer. She took a swig and made a face.

"You see what you do to me? You drive me to drink."

"Am I really that repulsive?"

"OK, I'll kiss you after the rescue. I can't trust you to keep your part of the bargain."

"What would your mother think if she knew you went around Mexico kissing convicts?"

Billy never though rage could be so…_cute_.

Rebecca stood and squared her shoulders.

"I'll be in the motel up the road. Whatever you decide, let me know tomorrow morning."

Rebecca turned on her heel and stepped into her rental, drove off without looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

Aguascalientes was the industrial city center of Mexico, and it smelled like it. Hot iron, sweaty skin and baked pavement; the whole city was a damned crematorium.

The airport was large and air-conditioned, not at all what Billy expected. He had half-hoped to sneak away onto a tiny airstrip near the more ill reputed areas of Mexico, making his way back to the country of his birth on an airplane bound together by scotch tape and wishes.

However, standing in line behind a raucous family of tourists and munching on a flaky breakfast pastry, Billy realized how badly he missed the menial, the unadventurous things in life. Even Rebecca's shorts and airy tank top amazed him; Billy was dressed in black, and in the hundred-and-two degree heat, he was beginning to regret it.

"Aren't we going to get tackled by security or something?" Billy said through a mouthful of croissant, purposefully muffling his words. Rebecca grinned up at him, eyes hidden behind her overlarge sunglasses. She held up two passports, handed one to him. Billy flipped it open and laughed.

Below a doctored picture of his old mug shot was the name _Caesar Salid_.

"Good job with the discretion," Billy smirked, pocketed the fake identification. "How'd you get this, anyway?"

"I'll tell you about that later. Oh, we're next. My name's Fedda, by the way."

"As in the cheese?"

"As in the dearest of four daughters."

"_Daughter_?"

Rebecca tried to suffuse her laughter as she placed her passport and two tickets onto the attendant's desk. Billy added his, anxiety rising in a hot surge up his stomach. The attendant matched picture to person and smiled, directed them to the proper terminal with a heavy accent.

Billy gusted a sigh of relief. They never would have pulled that off at an American airport.

As the two walked down the mirrored corridors of the airport, Billy wordlessly slipped Rebecca's duffel bag off her shoulder and slung it around his neck. She smiled, said nothing.

They were seated by the windows at the rear of the plane. Rebecca pulled a slim laptop out of her bag before Billy stashed it in the overhead.

"We use a private message board to establish rendezvous points, plan raids and other fun stuff," Rebecca was saying as she logged onto a bare bones website. There wasn't any of the usual glitter and shiny buttons he'd become accustomed to the few times he ventured online. "I'm going to post, let the others know we're on our way."

"Speaking of, where are we headed?"

"Texas. The S.T.A.R.S branch there is still clean."

Billy understood. Umbrella casts a _long _shadow.

Just as Rebecca logged off, the pilot asked for all electrical devices to be turned off. Billy strapped himself in and got as comfortable as the metal crossbars beneath the ineffective layer of foam in his chair would allow. He looked at Rebecca, who seemed to get several shades paler as the plane began to smoothly roll forward.

Billy shook his head in amazement. The girl faced down zombies and things called _Tyrants_, but a regulation aircraft made her nervous.

"I didn't know you were afraid to fly,"

"Flying I'm not afraid of. It's crashing that freaks me out."

"You can hold onto my big biceps if that helps," Billy ribbed.

"Holding onto you wouldn't mean much if we're both falling," Rebecca exhaled, fingers digging into the armrests. Billy draped his arm across her headrest and tilted his head back, closed his eyes. After a moment's hesitation, Rebecca laid her head against Billy's bicep.

It wasn't until they reached Del Rio, Texas, that they awoke.


	3. Chapter 3

Rebecca and Billy loaded their light luggage into the black SUV as the driver stepped out to introduce himself. A twenty-something young man dressed in a STARS vest and fatigues held out a strong hand to Billy.

"Mr. Coen. I've heard so much about you. Name's Camburn, Sean Camburn." His Texan accent was thick and endearing, making him sound like a salt-of-the-earth good old boy. His brown hair was buzzed short, exposing his youthful features and easy smile. Billy had met a lot of guys like him during his time in the service.

"Nice to meet you, Sean." Billy took the hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Any updates from our contact in Laughlin?" Rebecca asked, making her way to the passenger's seat.

"She's always straight to business, ain't she?" Sean grinned as he got behind the wheel. Billy hopped into the middle of the backseat so that he could join the conversation. "Carroll's sent us some intel about this company called the Panacea Group. They've had a lot of air traffic in the last month, all private flights."

"Panacea," Rebecca said, looking out the window. "They're a pharmaceutical distributor. If we did some digging, I'm sure we'd find a connection to Umbrella."

"Where are they located?" Billy asked, leaning forward in between the two operatives.

"Five miles outside a small town in Kentucky." Sean informed them, winding through the wide open city of Del Rio. "Carroll's working on getting satellite images."

"Not to sound out of the loop or anything, but who the hell is Carroll?"

"Computer specialist, an Air Force buddy of Chris'. He called in a few favors."

"I'll have to ask him about those favors." Billy said with a lascivious grin, knowing all too well how easy it was for people in the military to pair off.

"Nice to see that being out of prison for two years has done nothing to diminish your libido," Rebecca rolled her eyes and pulled out a sleek cell phone. She quickly sent a text and pocketed the device. "Told Barry we're on our way."

"Aren't you worried that someone might be tracking that?" Billy asked.

"The phone works on a modulating frequency. Every outgoing communication rides a different carrier wave. Untraceable." Rebecca said, grinning in Billy's direction. "Playing spy games for a couple of years makes you all kinds of clever."

"Nice work, Ms. Chambers." Billy nodded and leaned back, deciding to take in the sights of the city. He had thought that the openness of Mexico was liberating after being cooped up in a military facility awaiting trial, but driving through an American city was, to Billy, true freedom. Something as simple as riding backseat and cruising through a bustling city center gave him back his sense of normalcy, of being a man instead of a runaway convict.

Too soon, the SUV crawled to a stop in Del Rio's industrial district. Among a haphazard collection of warehouses, the Anti-Umbrella base of operations looked as decrepit and deserted as its neighbors.

The warehouse was massive and spacious. A few cots were placed at the far end of the wide space, next to an assortment of chairs and torn up sofas circled around a coffee table that had seen better days. In the center were a bank of power generators feeding into several desktops and laptops.

"Welcome to HQ," Sean said with a sweeping motion of his arms that only served to emphasize the sparsity of the room. Billy was hit with a wave of nostalgia; the base reminded him of mobile command centers he had helped set up while entrenched in the field. It already felt like home.

"Chris should be on his way back," Rebecca said as she made her way to the bank of computers. She tapped at a keyboard and surveyed the monitor. "His flight plan has been authorized. Thank you, Carroll."

"You can set your stuff down by the cots," Sean suggested as he joined Rebecca, Billy noting how close he stood next to her. A feeling Billy didn't like began to form in his chest, and he busied himself with unpacking in a feeble attempt to ignore it.

"So, why Kentucky?" Billy called out. "What could possibly be out there?"

"That's the point," Sean replied. "Who's going to expect evil scientists have taken up shop in the wilds of Buttfuck, USA?"

"Articulate as always," Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Oh, Billy, Barry went out to grab us some take-out. Hope you like Chinese."

"I'd wharf down anything that doesn't have rice and beans in it." The food in Mexico was great, but there just wasn't any variety. Billy had been jonesing for a good, oily slice of pizza for months now, but teriyaki chicken would do in a pinch.

"Gah, stop it!" Rebecca cackled suddenly as Sean pushed her away from the computer with his hips.

"You're such a screen hog!" Sean said. "I just want to check my e-mail."

"Checking the status of that male enhancement wonderdrug shipment, are you?" Rebecca grinned. Sean stood up straight and puffed out his chest.

"My male doesn't need any enhancing, thank you very much. I do live in the longhorn state, after all."

"Oh, very clever." Rebecca scoffed and wrestled with Sean for visual possession of the monitor.

Billy narrowed his eyes, fished a pack of smokes from his duffel, and wordlessly stepped outside.

The sun was high and hot, but there was a strong breeze blowing in from the west. Shoving a cigarette between his lips, Billy lit it and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes against the rush of wind. Exhaling the smoke in a great plume of white, Billy noted with frustration that the nicotine did little to ease his nerves.

The entrance to the warehouse opened and Rebecca shut it behind her. She regarded him with surprise.

"You smoke?"

"Only when the mood strikes," Billy shrugged, took another drag.

"Those things will kill you, you know." Rebecca said, crossing her arms. Billy looked at her with a quirked eyebrow.

"Remember the killer baboons in the training facility? _Those_ would have killed me. I'm not exactly experiencing the same sense of terror with this pack of Marlboros."

"Sorry, you're right," Rebecca held up her hands in a show of acquiescence. "That's just the medic in me talking." She grinned and nudged Billy in the side. "But the cigarettes do make you stink almost as bad as the baboons."

The joke didn't take. Billy silently took another pull from the Marlboro.

Chewing her lip again, Rebecca leaned against the face of the building and looked out into the empty road before them. "What's going on, Billy?"

"That's a loaded question." Billy responded tersely. After a moment of awkward silence, Rebecca said,

"Sean and I are just friends."

Billy groaned and stubbed out his cigarette with the heel of his boot.

"Please, I'm not fifteen."

"I'm just batting a hundred today, aren't I?" Another blush blossomed on her face. She kicked at some rocks and looked anywhere but Billy's direction. "I wanted to get in touch with you. But I couldn't. I didn't want to risk someone finding you."

"I know."

"It's been two years, Billy. I had to move on with my life. There's so much at stake all the time and I can't just think about my stupid, selfish needs."

"I know."

"And I lied to you. There are other operatives we could have used for this mission. But the truth is, I wouldn't trust anyone the way I trust you. And this is only the second time we've met."

Billy looked at Rebecca. She fidgeted, then forced herself to meet his eyes. "Bet you didn't know that, did you?"

"I'm glad you came looking for me, 'Becca. I hadn't realized I needed finding until I saw you roll up in that piece of shit rental."

"Well, I'm glad you came." Rebecca admitted, pushing her bangs away from her face. Billy saw that she wanted to say more, that she wanted to make plans and promises that normally swim around a twenty-year old girl's head when she's interested in a guy. But her lips remained sealed. How could she make plans and promises when she wasn't even sure they would survive to see the end of the week?

"Let's go inside. I want to catch Sean with a screen full of Asian porn and a hand full of longhorn."

"You're disgusting." Rebecca made a face, then considered the possibility. "Yeah, we shouldn't have left him alone with the Internet."

A moment later, Sean wondered why Billy and Rebecca came in laughing hysterically.


	4. Chapter 4

"I miss you too," Barry Burton spoke into the rigged cell phone, treasuring these stolen moments away from the planning, the late-night intelligence monitoring, the black market arms trading. Dusk settled gently upon the park, gilding the trees and grass in a rosy halo. It was late afternoon, but the team wouldn't be expecting him back for another ten minutes or so. He didn't want the others to see him like this, so lonely and weary. "The girls are behaving themselves?"

"They miss you." Barry's wife, Kathy, said hesitantly. Barry knew where this was going, where these conversations always led. "Moira is adjusting well to her new school, but Polly eats alone, doesn't talk to the other kids. You were her best friend, you scared away the dark for her, and now she feels totally afraid and alone all the time."

"Kathy, you're killing me here." Barry said, voice heavy with choked tears. "There's nothing in the world I want more than to come home and scoop all three of you up in my arms, but if I stop my work-"

"Yeah, I know," Kathy interrupted. "The world will end." She sighed, but Barry could almost hear a faint smile play upon her lips. "This is the price I pay for being married to Superman."

"I prefer the Hulk."

"I bet you do," Kathy laughed now, and it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

"I have to go," Barry said regretfully.

"I know."

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Be safe, OK?"

Barry nodded and ended the call. He picked up the two bags full of Chinese food from off the picnic table and headed for his truck, wondering if he could comply with his wife's request.

* * *

"The root of all evil is located in Hyden, Kentucky," Rebecca Chambers stated as she rolled out a large map onto the rickety conference table. Gathered around her, Billy, Sean and Barry ate out of their take-out containers. Rebecca couldn't eat, obsessively looking at her wristwatch and imagining a new horror being administered to Lucia and Sherry with each ticking second. "Just a mile outside of Hyden is a coal mining site. It's been abandoned for years, but the Panacea Group bought up the land eleven months ago and fenced it off."

"I went through news articles from the area," Sean said after swallowing a mouthful of lo mein. "Seems like there have been several disappearances since Panacea moved in. The local authorities are blaming it on bears. The woods are choked with 'em."

"Sounds more and more like the Raccoon incident," Barry said, setting his dinner down. Rebecca nodded, a grim line set into her mouth. She laid a transparent map down over the first, one that displayed the satellite images of the Panacea facility. The structure was massive, blocky and gray.

"Chris reported back to us this morning," Rebecca informed Billy, who listened intently. "The facility has two perimeter patrols here and here. There's an old aqueduct on the far east side that presumably leads back into the building's waste treatment center." Rebecca pointed to a half-submerged pipe that led out into a man-made lake about half a mile away from the building.

"Presumably?" Billy asked.

"That's what we're going to find out," the young woman said. "If it is an entrance point, then we'll initiate Plan A."

"Which is?"

"Find the girls and blow away anyone who tries to stop us." Rebecca stared at Billy, a hardness passing over her eyes that he couldn't recall seeing when they had been trapped at the Umbrella training facility.

"What about the justice part?" Billy asked, folding his muscled arms over his chest. "Are we just going to go around blowing up buildings without bothering to get the police involved? Sounds a hell of a lot like terrorism to me."

"You saw what happened to Umbrella after the military bombed Raccoon to hell. They walked away looking like a benevolent corporation that had done everything in its power to save the town. Their public relations agent even led America in a moment of silence on the eight o'clock news for chrissakes." Rebecca was getting flushed, her eyes shining wetly. Umbrella had murdered her friends, her town and her career all in the name of profit. She wasn't going to be bothered with something as trivial as due process. "If the mission is successful," Barry cut in, trying to staunch the quickly mounting tension. "Then Chris will place a call to the Air Force and make a bomb threat. The 'force will trace the call and find the Panacea scumbags all tied up with pretty pink bows on their heads."

"All right," Billy gusted a sigh and shook his head. "This is about the shoddiest strategy I've ever taken part of, but I can't think of any other way to do it with your resources." Billy noticed that Rebecca had quirked an eyebrow when he said 'your resources.' They'd have to cross and burn that bridge later. "Where are we meeting up with Chris?"

"He's waiting for us at a motel at the outskirts of town." Sean supplied, gorging himself on Chinese food, blissfully unaware of the tension. "We'll meet him there, then head on over to the mining site. Should be a short drive."

"If there aren't any more questions, let's rest up. We're moving out early tomorrow." Barry clapped his hands together, effectively ending their meeting. Rebecca shot Billy a withering look and sat down at her laptop. Even her back seemed to glare at him. Billy gnashed his teeth and made his way to one of the dirty cots at the back, laid himself down and entertained the idea of sleeping. It never took.


	5. Chapter 5

Mr. Death hated being late.

One was never late in his line of business. Punctuality, timing, it all meant the difference between survival and extinction, between success and failure. Even more than being late, Mr. Death hated loss of control. Now, being chauffeured by greenhorn imbeciles around the wilds of Hyden, Kentucky, the Umbrella operative was beginning to crack his knuckles with frustration.

"Look, it's a fucking map. You follow the little yellow line and it'll take you to where you need to go," Davis, the jeep's co-pilot, was saying to the driver. Jackson fixed his partner with an icy stare.

"I'm not a child. I can read a map. What I can't read, however, are routes that have been intentionally rubbed out of existence because it led to an illegitimate drug distributor hiding in the middle-of-fucking-nowhere."

"If you just let me drive, I'll get us there in ten minutes."

"If I let you drive, we'll be shaking bears out of trees the whole way."

"Bears don't live in trees."

"Sure as shit they do."

"Incorrect."

Crack.

"OK, turn left within a quarter mile and you should see the lake. Past that is the maintenance road, then through the security fence, then hang a right at the coal extractor-"

"And we should find the leprechaun guarding his pot of gold? These directions are shit."

Crack.

Mr. Death pulled his PDA out of his coat pocket and thumbed through the mission log in an attempt to tune out the mindless chittering of the operatives' voices. He learned nothing new from the report, but it was always wise to memorize one's self with the details of the mission at hand.

Lucia Carmine. Fifteen-years-old. Caucasian. Impregnated with experimental B.O.W Parasite A5, with successful DNA adhesion. Forced removal of the parasite caused by former S.T.A.R.S operative Barry Burton resulted in the loss of the bio-organic and subsequent vital data. Currently undergoing secondary implantation.

Sherry Birkin, daughter of G-Virus creator William Birkin. Thirteen-years-old. Caucasian. Doctor Birkin injected Sherry with trace amounts of dormant G strains that has been altering her genetic structure for years now. Condition: unstable. Undergoing chemical baths to speed up viral amplification rate.

Birkin. Mr. Death remembered his last encounter with the good doctor in the sewers beneath Raccoon City. He hadn't been human by that point, the G Virus having completely mutated him into an unstoppable monster of nightmarish proportions. Birkin had wiped out his entire team, leaving Mr. Death the only survivor; something that happened all too often during these delicate missions.

Something ran across the road.

"Shit!" Jackson screamed, slamming down on the brakes. Against the twin beams of the headlights, Mr. Death could see ripped, bloody tufts of brown fur, the infected flesh that rotted beneath it, and blackened teeth. It was a bear. A giant bear that reared up on its hind legs and roared to the night sky with an unnatural fury, perhaps a cry at what it had become.

"What the fuck is that?" Davis cried, frozen with shock.

"It's merely a distraction. Nothing more." Mr. Death opened the passenger door and stepped out, walking calmly up to the beast. The bear swiped its claws in his direction, roaring again loud enough to rattle the windows in the car.

"What do you think you're doing? Get your ass back in here!" Mr. Death ignored Davis and instead pulled out his Magnum from its hip holster. He stared into the bloodshot eyes of the bear, looked deep into the mad savagery therein. He looked into the very soul of hatred and chaos and it looked back. Mr. Death smiled.

The Magnum had a massive kick to it, and its discharge was deafening. The bear's head was _gone_, blasted away in a spray of bone chips and brain matter. The mammoth corpse swayed for a few seconds before toppling into a heap on the road, heat radiating from the gaping wound in its neck. Not bothering to give the monstrosity another glance, the operative holstered his gun and stepped back into the backseat of the car.

Both Jackson and Davis turned in their seats to stare at him, mouths agape.

"I lied. The bear was more than a distraction. This means that there has been a viral leak, which could mean careless waste disposal, or sabotage." Mr. Death said with the same measured tones he would use to order lunch. "It is imperative that we get to the Panacea Group facility immediately." At Jackson's inaction, Mr. Death leaned forward. "Drive."

The car rolled smoothly forward, weaving around the hulking body of the bear, and Mr. Death wondered why no one but he could do their jobs right.


	6. Chapter 6

Chris Redfield scrambled up the tree, his wet boots slipping on the rough bark but catching-dear god yes, catching-because the wildcat was _right behind _him.

_Come on Chris, just like racing Claire up the trees in our backyard. _

His hip holster and combat knife strap dug painfully into his waist as he hoisted himself onto a thick branch that would hopefully support his weight. Chris quickly stilled himself, perked his ears to hear for the low growling, the tearing of the underbrush. There was nothing but silence for a tense moment, and Chris relaxed his muscles so that he could better situate himself upon the precarious perch.

_I know you're out there, fucker..._

The wildcat had caught him by surprise near the man-made lake, perhaps on its way for a midnight drink. Chris surmised it had been drinking the virus-infected waters for weeks now, because the visible signs of mutation made it barely recognizable as a feline. Its haunches were overgrown and lopsided, the muscles so swelled that it broke through the layer of dirty brown fur. Its canines extended well beyond the bracket of its lips, black and dripping. And its eyes, its damned eyes glowed with a hellish green nightflash.

It turned those freakish eyes up at Chris who, despite all his stealth, made an errant splash in the shallow water in his attempt to back away from the beast, and instantly gave chase. In a dead run, the wildcat would have been able to overtake him in a handful of seconds, but the maze of trees and overgrowth allowed Chris to dodge his feral pursuer long enough to find his current vantage point.

_Fat lotta good it's doing me. I can't see shit._

Chris felt his pulse beat at the edge of his vision and he forced himself to calm down. He had faced a multitude of lab-grown monstrosities, but that was years ago. Since the Rockfort incident, Chris had been hunting down Umbrella officials, trying to cut off the head of the serpent, so to speak. Seeing virus carriers again after all this time brought Chris right back to those first few moments in the Spencer estate, when the line between science fiction and real life became so blurred that he'd lost sleep for months afterward, his waking moments tainted by the feeling that all of it was a damned lie, that there were monsters in every shadow, screaming for his blood.

And now he was in Kentucky of all places, with a viral wildcat lurking in the shadows, watching, waiting for him to slip just a little-

Chris heard something.

The woods were suddenly bathed in a bright light as a Jeep scrambled gravel near the shore of the lake. Chris pressed himself against the branch, trying to be as small as possible, and watched the car turn onto a paved road running parallel against the ancient aqueduct. Narrowing his eyes, Chris saw something that chilled his blood more than the shadow-cloaked wildcat...

A red and white Umbrella logo emblazoned brightly upon the gleaming license plate.

_Well fuc-_

With a piercing shriek, the wildcat leapt at the tree, its claws gouging great furrows into the bark as it lumbered its great weight up. With incredible strength, the beast brought itself to within inches of Chris' bootheels, its great jaw snapping.

Chris grabbed his Beretta and shoved the muzzle into the wildcat's mouth and pulled the trigger once, twice, and he saw the rounds punch through and out of the creature's spine, instantly paralyzing it. The mutated feline fell like a heap to the ground, kicking up dead leaves around it. It mewled, the throaty sound full of misery and acceptance, an aria of purest sorrow.

Chris hopped down from the branch, landing in a crouch some feet away from the dying animal. He knew the slugs must have ripped apart its insides, shattered its spinal column. It could take hours for it to bleed out, and Chris raised his pistol and took aim.

One muffled _crack_ later and the wildcat was quiet, still. Chris stood to his full height and let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Before he was able to turn around to get the hell outta Dodge, Chris heard an electronic hum, followed by a sharp trill. Quirking an eyebrow, Chris stared at the carcass suspiciously.

_ I don't know much about wildcats, but I'm pretty sure they're not supposed to make that noise._

Cautiously, Chris crouch-walked towards the corpse, prodding it with the muzzle of his handgun. He heard that sound again, thought it came from somewhere near the scruff of the wildcat's neck. Inching closer than he would have liked, Chris saw a small chip half embedded between its bloodied fur and torn flesh. A small red light flashed in time with the trill before going silent.

_Some kind of tracker, like they use in wildlife preserves...?_

This meant that the viral leak was intentional, that Panacea and Umbrella were collaborating, and that they were all in deep shit. Chris plucked the chip out with the tip of his knife, pocketed it, and made his way through the dangerous dark of the woods to his truck.


End file.
